What Happened with the Valjeans
by freedomismine
Summary: This is basically telling what happened in between the "eight years later", mainly revolving around the life of Jean Valjean and Cosette. It starts when Fauchelevent (the guy who Valjean rescued from getting crushed by a carriage) is helping Valjean and Cosette escape from Javert. Yeah and sorry about the dumb title and that it sucks but PLEASE REVIEW it so I can make it better!


"Right through here, Monsieur." Fauchelevent opened the door to a horse drawn carriage and directed Monsieur Madeleine and Cosette into it. They both climbed in. "Now, I'll be sending you to Paris, where you can pose as my brother," he said to Monsieur Madeleine. He paused, as if trying to think of something more to say. "Best of luck to you, then."

"I can't thank you enough for helping us with this," Monsieur Madeleine said to the man before he could close the door. "I speak for both of us," he nodded at Cosette, who was snuggled up next to him, "when I say that you've saved our lives."

"Well you saved mine, Monsieur. Let's say now we're even," Fauchelevent replied. After saying his final goodbye, he closed the door and paid the driver of the carriage.

Madeleine stared out the window into the night and listened to the sound of the horses' hooves against the cobblestone. He thought about Cosette, who was now sleeping, resting her head against his shoulder. She thought she was next to Monsieur le maire, the admired and successful mayor of the small French town of Montreuil-sur-Mer. Little she knows, he thought with a trace of bitterness.

Jean Valjean was back.

This was the horrible reality that he was still processing. He could no longer think of himself as Monsieur Madeleine, an extremely successful mayor who was respected and admired by all. He was Jean Valjean, a fugitive on the run who had been beaten, abused, and neglected a horrifying amount of times. He had gotten so far without hearing the sound of Inspector Javert's voice speak the words 24601, rich with disgust and smugness. Now . . . now it was all back

He could never tell Cosette, of course. The way she had trusted him with her life so instantly… if she ever found out who he really was it would break her heart. He refused to cause this child any more pain than she had already suffered. When he thought of how she was treated while she worked at that inn he felt sick to his stomach. The way he found her there, all alone in the woods, trembling and tears streaming down her face, he swore he would never let any being hurt her again. Even if it meant barely letting her out of the house, he would be sure that she never felt even a drop of pain.

He looked down at her. Her light blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight. It all of the sudden struck him how awfully pretty this young girl was. Behind the bruises and dirt on her face, she had beautiful fair skin and her teeth were surprisingly white. She had brown eyes, he remembered. Big brown eyes that he could tell were the eyes of a dreamer. She was exactly like her mother, he realized.

He didn't know what it was, but Jean Valjean loved this girl more than he could remember loving anything in his life. He loved her more than he had loved his sister, whose child needed the bread he tried to steal. Although that seemed like hundreds of years ago, he was still positive that his love for Cosette was greater than his love for his sister. Or his nephew for that matter. He kissed her softly on the head.

* * *

Valjean awoke peacefully to the sound of hooves clacking against the cobblestone streets. It took him a few moments to realize where he was.

"You musta really needed that rest," the carriage rider said from the seat in front of him with a thick Cockney accent. "It's nearly one o'clock. The girl too, she's been sleepin' fer more'n fourteen hours."

Valjean look at her and saw she was sleeping and hugging the doll he had bought her tight against her chest.

"I'm not surprised. We had a bit of an eventful day yesterday," he replied with a slight chuckle.

"We're nearly there, by the way," the driver said. "Just a bit under an hour."

Valjean nodded. It felt good to have a normal conversation after the shaking events of the night before. "I don't think I've thanked you for agreeing to such a long ride. If it helps, I assure you that we really need it," Valjean said, avoiding details. He didn't want to start a string of lies and then end up getting caught.

"Honestly, mate. I get paid more this way. And it's not like I ever get any sleep." the driver's tone became sympathetic and sorrowful. "Besides, uh, I know that they're practically chuckin' people in prison for wearin' the wrong shoes these days. Whatever you did, I'm sure you didn't do anythin' wrong."

Valjean's heart stopped. Surely he hadn't heard right? He frantically searched all areas of his brain for an explanation as to how and why this man could know. His mouth was incredibly dry as he tried to form words.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The man said earnestly, "Honest, Monsieur, you don't need to keep up that act with me. I won't turn you in or anythin', I promise."

Valjean was stunned. He did not know what to do. It seemed clear that this man would not be fooled by any lies Valjean had to offer. But was he really about to trust a man whom he had known for only minutes? At this point, his entire body was shaking and he could swear the beating of his heart was audible.

After a few seconds of silence the man spoke up again, "You know what, I shouldn'ta said nothin', I shoulda known it'd give you a scare." he sounded slightly guilty. "If it makes you any better, I don't know where you're gonna be, or what your name is, or what you did to get thrown in jail. So really, I couldn't do any good in helpin' to find you, even if I wanted to,"

After a long moment of silence, Valjean whispered hoarsely, "How did you know?"

The man seemed to relax. "It's a rather long story, but we got some time, I s'pose," he replied. "About eight or nine years ago I think it was, I had just been kicked out of my house after my wife died and I couldn't pay my landlord the rent. My nine year old son 'ad been taken to a workhouse. I felt like my entire world 'ad been torn to pieces, like there was nothin' worth livin' for. I couldn't imagine anythin' worse happenin', ya know?" the man tried to speak in a casual tone, but Valjean could tell that he was still suffering from the pain that that had caused him. He instantly trusted this man much more than he had before.

"Anyways, soon enough I got a job at an inn sellin' alcohol. It was real dull work, nothin' interestin' 'appened, not ever, plus my boss was a bloody downright bitch and paid me about an eight of what I deserved. But anyways, one day this man came in, looked like he'd been to 'ell and back. All he did was sit down on a cushioned chair, and from the look on 'is face you wouldda thought 'e was seein' 'eaven for the first time. Everybody was sorta looking at him, and they all went quiet, but I 'onestly don' think he gave even the slightest damn." the man chuckled, as if remembering the moment. Valjean vaguely wondered where the story was going, but he decided to keep quiet and listen.

"Well, 'e just sat there for a few seconds, and then my boss went up to him and asked to look at his papers. Now, normally, 'e lets people 'ave a seat for a minute without demandin' to look at their files. But 'e didn't like the look of this guy. He's a bitch, I told ya. The guy sorta reluctantly took out a sheet of paper and 'anded it to my boss, who read it, and started looking real angry. He literally grabbed the guy by the shirt, dragged him across the room and threw 'im and the paper outside. When he came back in 'e was spitting mad, grumblin' about a thief on parole—" when Valjean heard this, his stomach dropped. He was quite sure he knew where the story was going. Nevertheless, he let the man continue his story.

"-and 'ow he wouldn't have scum like that in 'is inn. I don't know what hit me then, but all of the sudden I just got really angry at 'im, and so I just walked out. After a few days, I got a job drivin' carriages that paid real well, and I got my son back. He's currently goin' to a university. That man- who you've probably realized is you- is who I thank for my better life, I guess. I know it's mad, but I've sorta felt like I've had a connection to you. Like you were destined to open up my eyes, you know?"

It took Valjean a few moments to process this. The fact that this person— someone who not only fully understood that he was not a bad person, who felt his pain, but someone who actually _admired_ him while he was on _parole_— caused a mixed feeling of several different emotions that just couldn't be described in words.

"So . . . you recognized me after eight years?" was all he could think of to say.

The man laughed. "Yeah, I s'pose that's a bit strange, isn't it? I dunno, it also looked like there was some writing on your wrist, so I figured that might be your prison number." Valjean looked down at the tattooed digits on his wrist. 24601. The fact that this would stay on his skin forever made him feel slightly sick. What if Cosette saw it one day? What would she think?

The driver spoke suddenly, distracting Valjean from his train of thought.

"Well, 'ere we are. Wow, this bloke Fauchelevent has got a bundle of money, hasn't he? Not just anyone has an extra house this nice just layin' around . . ." Valjean looked up and saw that the driver could not be more right. The two story house was made of stone, with vines all around the sides. Leading up to it was a beautiful, tall fence, which also had vines weaved around it. The lawn was overgrown, but it gave the whole property a natural sort of feel to it, which he was sure Cosette would like. This was a perfect house.

"Papa." He looked down to see that Cosette had awoken, and was looking at the house in awe. He smiled, happy to be able to finally get to talk to her without being scared for both their lives.

"Come, my child," he said. "It is time to begin our new lives."


End file.
